


Inebriated

by relic_amaranth



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Love Confessions, M/M, Other, accidental love confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-11-21 06:06:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18138416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/relic_amaranth/pseuds/relic_amaranth
Summary: Steve helps your drunk ass home, because he’s a gentleman and you’re a dope. It’s a match made in heaven. No– really.





	Inebriated

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Fluff, drunk reader, a very gentle poke at the fourth wall
> 
> A/N: Cute drunk accidental love confessions. Because I can.

 

“I will _fight you_.”

“How drunk are you?” a familiar voice chuckles and you’re surrounded by warmth.

“Oh.” You squint to focus. Good results; A+ job, Eyes. “Hi Steve. Um…pretty?”

Either he’s laughing or the room is moving. Wait– it’s the latter. Oof. You shut your eyes, but it _sort of_ sounds like he’s laughing, so maybe it was both after all. “Come on,” he says and nudges you. “Let’s get out of here.”

You’re feeling pleasantly float-y and no one has complained about you (that you know of) but it is hard to keep your eyes open. And Steve is warm and comfortable, even if he _is_ making you walk. It’s a good excuse to be close to him, and there’s absolutely nothing to complain about there.

He asks you something and you reply in the affirmative. It takes you a few seconds to realize you probably shouldn’t do that while drunk. Even with Steve. Maybe even especially with Steve; he might start asking you dumb questions just to tease you about later. “Wait. What did you say?”

He definitely laughs then. You have to fight not to melt at the sound. “Damn,” he says and holds you even closer. A small part of your mind dissolves into goo. Worth it. “I was going to see what else you’d agree with.”

Yep. Jerk. Stupid, big, sweet, adorable jerk. Who you are _not_ in love with, no sirree bob, nope. Why would you do something stupid like fall in love with the sweetest man with the most beautiful hard-won smile, who cares so much and is the most amazing person you’ve ever known. Who is also someone you have no chance with. No, that would be _dumb_. Only an idiot would do that.

You sigh. It’s tough being an idiot.

Steve coughs and you realize you aren’t moving. “I was asking if you didn’t mind staying at my place,” he says. “It’s closer. But if you don’t feel comfortable–”

“That’d be nice.” You lean into him. “I can crash on your couch.”

“My bed. Like I’d let a guest sleep on my _couch_ ,” Steve scoffs and guides you. Your eyes are open but you can’t focus on anything. Except for Steve. Steve…

“You let Sam sleep on your couch,” you say, staring up at him.

“Sam’s not a guest; he’s a nuisance.” He must still be bitter about that poker game. But you don’t call him out on it, because Steve helps you miss some trash on the ground. You don’t stumble. Go you. Except then you do, because Steve says, “Besides– I like you better.”

“Lies,” you say as you end up on his stoop.

“Truth,” he says and gets his keys out. “I like you _much_ better.”

Your tongue ties up, but it’s just as well. Steve helps you all the way to his bed, even though you try to protest that it’s rude, and after that, things are…fuzzy…

 

You wake up with a mouth that tastes like stale dirt and a…surprisingly mild headache, considering how much you put away last night. Body evaluation over, you take a second to realize where you are. Steve’s. Steve’s room. Steve’s _bed_. Because Steve found you acting like a mess and helped you home. To _his_ home.

That’s…fantastic. Just what you need. You should get up, write an apology note, and go home. He doesn’t need you crowding his space like this– you should make his bed and scoot. That seems like a thing a responsible adult would do. Yes; you can make amends and be responsible.

You last all of thirteen heroic seconds before you shove your face in the pillow and breathe, but you don’t get much. He must have just changed the sheets. _Rats_.

There’s knocking, and Steve pokes his head in. “Hey,” he says and opens the door all the way. He’s wearing loose pajama pants and a tight white tank top, and holding two cups of coffee. He’s a goddamn _dream_. You toss the pillow behind you as he approaches.

“How are you feeling?” he says and hands you one of the mugs as he sits.

“Not too awful, surprisingly,” you say and take a drink. It’s the best thing you’ve ever tasted. “Thanks. Sorry I acted like a dumbass last night.”

He shrugs. “I’m happy to take care of you. And you didn’t act like an idiot with me.”

“I used you like a crutch all the way here. Stumbling like Bambi isn’t exactly dignified behavior,” you say. The coffee is warm in your hands but not scalding and even the smell makes you feel better, so you take a very long drink.

“You remember?” he asks. “The walk home?”

Half the cup is gone when you part with it to breathe. “Um…yeah. Mostly. Hey, did I challenge you to a _fight_?”

“When I cut you off,” he chuckles. “Do you remember me asking you if it was okay to bring you here?”

“Yes.”

“Do you remember calling me a jerk?”

“Um…” You put the cup closer to your lap. You don’t remember saying that out _loud_. “Sssssort of?”

He grins. “What about…‘stupid, big, sweet, adorab–’”

“Oh my god.” _This_ wave of sickness hits you harder than any hangover ever has and you curl into yourself. “I’m so– St– can we just forget I said anything?”

He reaches into your body-made cave and carefully extracts the coffee cup from your tightly clenched fingers. You hear him set it on the table and when his other hand, large and warm, rests upon your back, you start having a hard time breathing. This is it: the gentle letdown. After this you can no longer live in a state of denial and ‘maybe.’ You’ll have to just–

“What if I don’t want to forget it?”

You sit up and blink at him. “What?”

The hand on your back stays. His other hand moves up the side of your face and rests there. You stay still and let him do all the moving, until his lips are pressed against yours. The kiss isn’t deep, but it’s enough. It’s enough and you also want _more_.

“Perfect,” Steve murmurs.

You can’t help the way your lips curl at that. “Steve, I just woke up after drinking all night. There’s nothing perfect about me.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “We’ll have to agree to disagree,” he says. “But if it makes you more comfortable…I keep a spare toothbrush in the main bathroom.”

You grin.

 

Later, thoroughly washed and having long lost the taste of whatever toothpaste you had used, you and Steve both break apart to breathe. His hands don’t leave you, and your hands don’t leave him. It’s wonderful.

“Hey; why do you talk in second person when you get drunk?”

“Shut up, Rogers.”

He obeys. After all, you both have much better things to do.


End file.
